Still Convalescing…

Last week we took our barn kittens, Shadow and (Black) Magic  to be neutered.

The place we went was very efficient and had us in and out in time to go to Jazzercise at 9.

We were called after surgery with an update on how they had fared and told we could collect them by 3.

I have to admit I experienced a flutter of disappointment when I wasn’t applauded for being a responsible pet owner, especially as Shadow and Magic were first and foremost males (so no unwanted litters in our back forty) and second-most slated to live a life relegated to the out buildings with the grand task of making their space a Rodent-Free Zone.

Two drowsy, softly yowling kittens were handed back to us along with a page of do’s and don’t’s ranging from,

how their 5 lb bodies may respond to the anesthesia and entreaties to keep them as immobile as possible to,

monitoring their litter box trips and policing the potential licking of their surgical sites.

In our minds there was no choice but to re-locate them into the main house to pitch camp with Callie, our resident female feline, while we supervised their activities.

Cal wasn’t amused but has grown accustomed to the spare litter box on the other side of the utility room, which she uses in a pinch, the two extra bowls of food put out to tickle her taste buds as the fancy takes her and their growling as they wander around with the white toy mouse or fluffy ball, she let them have, softly held between their teeth.

We declined the E(lizabethan)-collar to stop them licking and almost immediately determined they needed a preventive accessory of some sort, so here’s what clever Hubs did,

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John-the-Baptist collars

Nicknamed by me, the John the Baptist collars worked perfectly for just a few cents apiece and kept us amused for a couple of days

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Shadow eating

as we watched them roaming their new territory, bumping into doorways and crashing into walls until eventually coming to terms with their embarrassing head gear,

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Magic at breakfast

and falling into an exhausted sleep collared with the crumpled evidence of an adventurous day.

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They were completely healed after 72 hours and comments like,

“We need to take them back to the barn,” began to be bandied around half-heartedly.

Shadow curled up on my papers,

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Magic snoozed upside down on my office window sill.

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They both snuggled into our sofas,

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and entangled themselves at the refectory table.

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They responded well to my water sprayer reminding them that outside manners were not welcome inside.

No leaping onto our dinner plates, drinking out of our cups, or prowling across the stove-top,

No chewing through computer cords, or sucking on buttons, or batting at venetian blinds,

No climbing the shower curtain, playing with wasps or scratching at the leather chairs.

They developed a routine,

Callie’s litter box became the preferred little boys’ room,

claws were carefully retracted when playing with us.

They waited patiently by the fridge for most of the afternoon, having synchronized watches with Callie, for their evening meal of canned tuna.

All in all they were good guests… with loud, soothing, purr-motors that ran continually.

“They would be fun to keep all the time,” Hubs said wistfully.

But I’m going to have to take a deep breath and carry them across the way without looking back…

deposit them into their old world…

with promises to visit often…

“It’s a shame isn’t it,” I whispered to Hubs with Shadow on full alert, “no matter what they do to ingratiate themselves they will never move up the ladder to house-cat.”

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After exactly one week they have made themselves quite at home.

Today I caught them in the linen trunk with ‘oh oh’ looks on their faces,

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“Wait, wait…” they seemed to say, “we’re still convalescing…

KittiesConvalescing10Can’t we stay just one more day?”

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